Helpless: Alexander Hamilton and the Traitor's Wife
by LadySirius32158
Summary: As the treachery of General Benedict Arnold is discovered, Alexander Hamilton finds himself concerned about the lovely young wife the traitor left behind. She's so pretty, and hysterical, and so gosh darn helpless...


Alexander Hamilton watched the retreating figure of George Washington until the tall commander and his mount were lost to view. He eased the delicate muslin curtains back into place and turned to his companion, the Marquis de Lafayette. "Well, the General is on his way. I'm sure there will be some hoopla going on at the fort, but for now there is nothing for us to do but to remain here, I suppose." He offered Lafayette a pleasant smile.

Despite his attempt at gaiety, Hamilton could not help but think something was amiss in this place. Something deep in his gut told him that all was not as it appeared. And he had learned long ago to trust such instincts as they were generally correct. He had not survived a rough childhood in the West Indies without learning a thing or two about life.

"Well, then, we wait," Lafayette replied with his usual aplomb. "Our dear commander , he will receive many… how do you say? Ah, yes, kudos. And perhaps a cannon salute, yes? Which we shall no doubt hear, even from this side of the river. Very noisy, very much what he will not wish to have happen. But he will pretend he is pleased, so he does not offend. Then he shall return, along with General Arnold. In the meantime, I believe breakfast is ready for us, yes?"

"Yes, assuredly," Hamilton replied as he automatically began to walk toward the dining room, where his nose had informed him their meal awaited. He hoped it tasted even half as good as it smelled. They'd yet to see their beautiful hostess, the former Peggy Shippen, now Arnold, who was apparently still abed. Probably due to her new motherhood. Hamilton had been privileged to clap eyes upon her previously, and he could see why the young woman had been considered to be the belle of Philadelphia. He wasn't sure what drew the delicate beauty to the rather rough general, but sometimes opposites did attract. And Benedict Arnold, although not the most tactful of men, was a very commanding figure, despite the injury which kept him from active duty.

As if conscious of the fact that a beautiful woman was just upstairs, Hamilton ran a hand through his auburn hair. Not a strand out of place, despite having just ridden the distance to Robinson House, quarters of General Benedict Arnold, situated just across the river from West Point, the general's new command.

At a gentle snicker from his companion, Hamilton's face grew warm. "Would you like me to find a mirror for you, _mon ami_?" the Frenchman asked, a twinkle in his eye, bemusement in his voice. "Although truth be told, you do not need it. Handsome as always. But then I am sure your lovely fiancée has told you that herself. Many times."

His dearest Betsey. Indeed, she was not hesitant to express her admiration, in such private moments as they were able to garner, although the wooing of her had not been easy. After all, he was viewed by many as a nobody, despite his attachment to Washington's staff. He'd been born a bastard in the West Indies, while Elizabeth was the daughter of a wealthy landowner, General Phillip Schuyler. Hamilton had nothing to recommend him but brains, ambition, and charm. He had wielded these to his best advantage, and secured Schuyler's permission to wed Elizabeth, once he'd won her heart.

Thinking of Betsey brought a momentary smile to Hamilton's face, but that was quickly replaced by a frown as they took their places at the table. He glanced up to find Lafayette's concerned gaze fixed on him.

"What is wrong, Alexander?" he asked.

Hamilton hesitated, seeking the words to describe the unnamed dread which was spreading through his chest like an icy finger. He bit his lower lip briefly, then asked, "Gilbert, did you not think General Arnold's departure just a little bit… precipitate?"

Hamilton and Lafayette had been directed to ride ahead of Washington, who came behind, accompanied by another aide, James McHenry. Arnold had seemed a little tense when they arrived, almost distracted. The appearance of a messenger had done little to dispel his nervousness. In fact, it was just after that he leapt up and announced his intention of going to West Point to prepare for Washington's arrival, although why he couldn't wait for him, he did not say. He'd then hurried upstairs, presumably to inform his lady, and the last they'd seen of Arnold was when he limped past them, out the door, a short time ago.

"Perhaps so," Lafayette replied, reaching for the delicate tea cup which sat before him. He took an appreciative sip before continuing. "To what do you ascribe this?"

"I don't know, honestly. Hopefully, I'm just overreacting, and naught is wrong." He forced a smile before turning his attention to the food which had been set before him. "A splendid repast!" he commented. "But I would expect no less from such a fine lady—"

The sound of the front door interrupted his thoughts. Moments later, he glanced up to find a messenger standing beside him, packet in one hand, the other upraised in a smart salute. "Colonel Hamilton, sir!"

"At ease," Hamilton said, reaching for the dispatches, which were quickly given over. "Wait here for a few minutes, I may have something to go back with you." The soldier relaxed somewhat, giving a quick nod to Lafayette, who returned it affably.

Hamilton began to riffle through the papers. Some of these would require Washington's attention, but he could take care of others, and assign a level of importance to the rest… He paused at one message in particular, read and reread it, sure he wasn't seeing what was written there. But the damning words remained the same, before his disbelieving eyes, and the apprehension that had lain in the pit of his stomach now had a name—Benedict Arnold.

"No," he murmured, rising in his agitation, message in hand. "No, no, no, no, _no_!" He raised distressed eyes to Lafayette.

"What is it?" The marquis had risen as well, hand on sword.

"Arnold," Hamilton said hoarsely. "He… he's a traitor. Damnation. I don't think he's gone to West Point at all. I think he has flown in the face of discovery, and _that_ is the reason for his sudden departure, as well as his disquiet."

"A traitor? You are sure?" Lafayette blanched.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. A spy has been apprehended, a John Anderson. He had the plans for the fortification of West Point concealed in his possession, and _in_ Arnold's own hand. Of Arnold's collusion, there can be no doubt." He snapped his fingers. "Time is of the essence. We must apprehend the traitor before he escapes. I believe there is a British ship not too far from here, is there not?" This last was addressed to the messenger, a young corporal.

"Yes, sir," he responded with alacrity, snapping to attention once more. "The _Vulture._ She was fired on last night by Colonel Livingston's men and she moved down river a little ways as a result, I believe."

"Then we must fly. Lafayette, with me?"

"Oui, immediately," came the prompt response.

"Corporal, ride to West Point, find General Washington and tell him that I sent you, and it is of the utmost importance he return here immediately."

"Yes, sir!" The corporal made no hesitation, and was gone in an instant. Hamilton raced for the door, Lafayette just behind him, both men calling for their mounts.

"I pray we are not too late," Hamilton said just before he spurred his steed to a gallop.

But alas, fortune was not with the two young men, and despite their best efforts, Arnold reached the _Vulture_ , and the ship sailed off with its traitorous cargo. Destination New York City, no doubt. Discouraged, they returned to the Robinson house, to find a shaken Washington had arrived.

"Arnold has betrayed us! Whom can we trust now?" he asked his aides.

"You can rely on me," Hamilton said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could. Taking control of the situation, and showing a great self-reliance in the face of Arnold's dastardy, he hastily dashed off directions to the Sixth Connecticut Regiment to reinforce the fortress, while to General Nathaniel Greene, he wrote to advise that he put the army under marching orders and detach a brigade their way immediately.

This task had barely been finished when a clamor arose from above, the likes of which Hamilton had never heard in all his life. An unearthly shriek, terrible and voluble. Arnold's aide, Richard Varick, who had been wandering from room to room, in an obvious state of shock, raced up the stairs at the sound, with Hamilton close behind.

Inside one of the bedrooms, he spotted a distraught young woman, a petite blonde, wearing a rather revealing morning gown, her hair disheveled and a babe in her arms. She lay on a four poster bed, thrashing back and forth as she shrieked in a high banshee-like wail. At their entrance, she gestured toward her husband's aide, eyes wild with obvious terror.

"Colonel Varick, why have you come for my child? You intend him harm, don't you?" She gathered the babe more closely into her motherly grasp and began to moan. "Please, please, _please_ , do not harm him, I beg of you."

"Madame, I assure you," the hapless Varick entreated her, "I would never… I _could_ never…" But nothing he said served to quiet the poor lady. He turned at last to Hamilton, flabbergasted. "Sir, could you please… perhaps she will listen to you."

Hamilton wasn't sure why that should be, but he was not about to let the woman continue in such distress. "I will speak with her. See to His Excellency. I will return anon."

Once Varick had gone, Hamilton turned his attention to Mrs. Arnold, for none other could this tortured woman be. "Madame, I implore you," he entreated her, taking a cautious step toward the baffled beauty, "I mean you no harm, nor your child. I have naught but your best interests at heart. Please calm yourself, and let me know what has distressed you in this way."

Staying a cautious distance from Hamilton, she rose from the bed and began to pace the floor, keeping to her side of the room at a distance from the aide, muttering to herself. Occasionally, he thought he recognized a few words, such as "Out, out damned spot", which only increased his confusion and terror for the good lady.

With a sudden surge of inspiration, he realized what must have transpired to produce such a state in Arnold's wife. When he'd gone upstairs, he'd revealed his perfidy to her, before he fled, coward that he was, and she was terrified for herself and her innocent babe. Her grief had driven her momentarily unhinged.

"Be assured, good lady, that whatever your husband has done, no blame shall fall on you. We know that you are innocent of his guilt. I pray you, please calm yourself. For your sake, as well as that of the babe."

Hamilton's words produced a greater outcry, and he chided himself for reminding her of that which terrified her so.

"General Washington, I must see him!" she cried out in alarm when Hamilton took a tentative step in her direction. "There is a hot iron on my head, and only he can remove it! Oh, the torture, the torture!"

"He is here, Madame, just below. I shall hasten to bring him to you." Hamilton's mind raced. Perhaps the sight of her husband's commanding officer would allay her fears toward herself and her child being tarred by the same treason brush as her husband. Poor lady. It broke his heart to see her so helpless. Damn Arnold to perdition. There could be no excuse for his actions, none whatsoever, especially as regarded his gentle lady wife and child.

He turned to bring the general himself, but as luck would have it, George Washington himself stood framed in the doorway, no doubt alarmed himself by what Varick had told him. At the sight of him, Mrs. Arnold's cries grew in volume and intensity.

"The devil has come to claim my poor son!" she wailed. "I must see General Washington. Please, allow me to speak with him, I implore you. He must remove this iron, he must, or I shall surely die!"

"But this _is_ his Excellency—"

Her cries cut him off. "No, you are wrong. See his horns? See his tail? That is the devil. Oh my poor poor son! He will kill him, of that I am sure! "

No amount of entreaty could persuade the terrified Peggy of the falseness of her delusion. Washington himself was much disturbed by her affliction, stressed as he already was by the treacherous turn of events. On Doctor Eustis' arrival, both men turned her care over to the physician and retreated downstairs to await further intelligence. A messenger soon arrived with a missive from the traitor himself, and it was with trepidation that Hamilton rode the poisonous invective wherein Arnold blamed everyone else for his treachery—everyone but himself. At the same time, he begged that no blame be attached to his wife, who was innocent of all knowledge of his intentions. He closed by saying that she was free to join him, or she could return to her father's home in Philadelphia, should she so choose.

"Monster!" Hamilton hissed, beside himself with rage as he handed the letter to Washington, who perused it, having regained some of his usual stoic demeanor.

"The poor lady." Lafayette clucked his tongue in sympathy. "I do not understand how such a great general could betray his country in such a fashion, much less his beloved wife."

"He blames the treatment he received at the court-martial," Hamilton replied with mounting indignation. "And he blames General Gates. And Ethan Allan. And everyone but himself, the coward! Better to face the truth with dignity than to succumb to lies and double dealing. Death before dishonor."

"Hear, hear," Lafayette said in agreement.

After a short time, they were joined by Doctor Eustis, even as Washington was going over plans with his staff, including his head of intelligence, Benjamin Tallmadge, who had also arrived. Tallmadge had information of his own to give. The man originally known by the name John Anderson was none other than Major John André, Adjutant General of the British Army, and worked directly under General Clinton. There could no longer be any doubt that this was indeed an act of espionage which had almost been perpetrated upon them. Tallmadge was extremely distraught over events, but Hamilton suspected there was another cause for his perturbation, one which he could not fathom and Tallmadge was not about to reveal.

By evening, Mrs. Arnold had calmed down sufficiently to make an appearance. She gazed with some trepidation at the men assembled there, as if fearful of their reception. Hamilton hastily rose from the dining room table where they'd been planning strategy. The other men followed suit, standing respectfully as well.

"Colonel Hamilton," the beauty addressed him softly. "Might I request that you accompany me for a small turn, that I might take some of the evening air? " She turned her big blue doe eyes upon him, her eyelashes fluttering almost helplessly, and he started to assent before considering he should ascertain that this proposed perambulation was amenable to his commander. They both looked toward Washington, who nodded his agreement.

"I would be most happy." Hamilton stepped toward her, arm outheld, and she accepted it, as they made their way from the scene of such misery and treachery discovered.

Although September, summer temperatures yet lingered, but a mild breeze made the evening more pleasant than it might otherwise have been. The lady's grasp of Hamilton's arm was light, but firm, and she seemed to be in a better frame of mind, though she had every right to be upset. He wished he knew how he could ease her situation, but at the moment nothing came to mind.

"I am sorry to meet you again under such circumstances, Mrs. Arnold," Hamilton said.

"Peggy, please," she said, a slight catch in her voice, and he cursed himself for his insensitivity. Of course she didn't wish to be reminded that she still carried the blackguard's name. "Colonel Hamilton, you are too kind. Considering the circumstances…"

Hamilton thought he heard a catch in her voice, and his heart broke for this poor, helpless young woman all over again. He glanced away from her, in an attempt at gentlemanly discretion, yet couldn't help but look back when he heard a muffled sob. The next thing he knew, his arms were filled with Peggy Arnold. Her petite body was wracked with sorrowful lamentations as she cried herself out against him. He comforted her the best way he could, now and then bestowing comforting pats upon her back. He wasn't sure what else he could actually do that would ease any of her pain.

Finally, she drew back, as her breathing evened out. "I am so sorry, I did not mean to impinge upon your hospitality in that way. I must look a dreadful fright."

Actually, Hamilton thought the tears had only served to enhance the luminosity of her eyes. "Of course you do not, you are quite beautiful, as always," he gallantly assured her. She rewarded his words with a very lovely smile, one which warmed his heart.

"I thank you, sir. You are indeed a gentleman."

They proceeded to resume their interrupted stroll, as if nothing had happened.

"I understand that you are affianced to one of General Schuyler's daughters?" she asked after a few moments. Hamilton easily understood her need to change the subject. How considerate to direct it toward himself, a subject he had no problem discoursing on.

"Indeed I am," he confirmed. "Miss Elizabeth Schuyler has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me. We are to be wed in December of this very year, in fact."

"Such a lucky lady," Mrs. Arnold said in heartfelt tones.

Deciding they'd walked as far as Hamilton was comfortable with, he discreetly turned their steps back toward the house. Evening shadows were just beginning to lengthen, and he was concerned with the lady's security, not to mention her fragile state of mind. To his surprise, just as they reached the porch, she paused, forcing him to stop as well. Stretching up, she placed a soft kiss upon his cheek.

"Thank you, Alexander," she said. "I think that we shall not meet again, but I shall never forget you or your great kindness."

She dropped him a brief curtsey before making her way into the house. He stood where she left him, slightly dazed, hand held against the cheek she'd touched. Such a gentle lady. So helpless.

He was rooted to the same spot a few minutes later when he was joined by Lafayette. "Are you all right, _mon ami_?" the marquis asked gently.

"I just don't understand," Hamilton said.

"Understand what? How one of our most trusted generals could betray his country? How such a man could so shame and dishonor his family?"

"All of it," Hamilton admitted. "Did you see her? She…she's so fragile. So tender." In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think of his mother, left alone and defenseless, forced to support herself and her two sons, also because of a traitorous husband. "So alone."

"Do not worry, I suspect Madame Arnold will not be alone for long. I believe she will return to the bosom of her family. At least for a little while." Lafayette gave a Gallic shrug of his shoulder, as if to say _What can you do?_

"For a little while? What do you mean?" Hamilton was confused.

"I mean that women are not like us, in that they think with their hearts rather than their minds. Perhaps once time has healed the wound Arnold has inflicted, she will miss him. Miss the father of her child. It is impossible to know, but I consider it possible."

Hamilton repressed a shudder. That she should return to such a monster was unconscionable.

The front door opened and McHenry appeared. "Gentlemen, we are needed," he informed them.

Hamilton couldn't help but think that he could never be like Benedict Arnold. He would never turn down a lady in distress, or allow himself to be the cause of her despair.

"Someday he will get his," Hamilton predicted, setting his jaw into a firm line. "Let's see what we can do to help that day along." He clapped Lafayette on his shoulder, and together they entered the house.


End file.
